An Inch In Time
by ithinkican
Summary: What if Effie Trinket's hand had moved an inch before selecting the male tribute? What if the odds had made Gale Hawthorne Katniss' opponent at the 74th Annual Hunger Games? I don't own anything.
1. Chapter 1

1 - Hunter

When I wake, I can still feel Prim's fingers woven into mine. The coarse sheets are twisted around my legs, and I can feel a sheen of sweat on my skin. Nightmares. Prim screams when she has them. I stay silent. I uncurl her fingers as gently as I can, swinging my legs out of bed and stretching my back. Morning light streams in through the unhinging shutters beside me, and for a moment Prim is an angel, her hair golden, skin luminous on the rough grey pillow beneath her. Flecks of dust are suspended in the shafts that the slats let in. And for a moment, the dull pang of hunger is gone.

The sensation does not last long. Prim stirs as I move as quietly as I can across the old floorboards. The wood is cold beneath my feet and a draught plays at the back of my neck. I pull on my hunting clothes; a threadbare tunic barely keeping me warm. Throwing caution to the winds, I pull on a thick woolen jacket. This is usually reserved for the coldest winter months, but I am willing to give myself some comfort today. The last day before the reaping. I should at least enjoy it while I can. I cannot let myself think about the worst case scenario. And today, whatever happens, I can be blissfully ignorant. A long mirror stands opposite the chest filled with our clothes, and I look at my reflection. The dark hue – an accumulation of coal dust and general weathering – that so often covers the faces of people from the Seam has reached me again. I throw my braid over my shoulder and make my way down the wooden stairs. There is a basin by the hearth which has working taps if we are lucky. Today is a lucky day. Perhaps they have decided that we have to look presentable at the reaping tomorrow. I smile at the thought, although I am not sure why; perhaps it is the distinct contrast between my definition and the Capitol's definition of 'presentable'. The chilled water stings my face, running down my wrists and dripping onto the hard-scrubbed floor.

The sun is almost completely up past the highest hill on the horizon. I lace my boots tightly over some socks that Greasy Sae knitted for me last year. They are by far the best present I have ever been given. Closing my door, I look around. The miners from the Seam are beginning to leave for work, heavy steps echoing the machinery that shudders across the town. I know their faces. I know some of their children. But there is something intimate about this time in the morning, when guards have not yet been put up, and the rawness of life has not been dulled by routine. We all look down.

The crude road brings me to the old dam, by the empty Hob. In a matter of minutes it will be buzzing with life. I pick up my pace, across the meadow. A thin mist covers the grasses on the incline, dew clinging to each blade of grass. I see a stray primrose, resilient and solitary amongst the tall grasses. I want to pick it for Prim, but decide against it. It's too vulnerable. I do not know why I have pity for a flower and not the game I will shortly be hunting. I suppose it's because a primrose is not edible. I tried to eat one, just after my father died and I had not met Gale, but ended up retching until my already empty stomach ached.

"Katnip." I spin around. I have let my guard down, standing with my face to the warm sun. Gale is on the other side of the fence, holding it up for me in mock chivalry. I duck under, seeing his amused smile, my forehead furrowing.

We continue in silence into the trees. The mist is here, too, clouding the light that streams between the tree trunks. It must be almost seven by now. I retrieve my bow, my hand closing around the leather grip that Gale found for me, slinging my arrows over my shoulder. Suddenly, Gale motions to me to stop and I follow his gaze. A deer. It stands about a hundred yards away, looking away from us. Silently, I quiver an arrow and feel the string tighten, aiming for under its shoulder, where I know I will reach its heart. A slight relaxation of my hand, and the arrow has found its target. The deer stumbles and falls. It is dead when we reach it.

"There's no way we can carry this," I look up at Gale, smiling at the thought of how much we can get for venison. Gale has already found a suitable branch. I stand aside as he pulls the deer around and ties its dainty ankles to the branch. He smiles at me, the lines of concentration around his deep blue eyes gone. We lift the branch, holding it on our shoulders. By the time we reach our usual vantage point, my back is straining from the effort. Gale is much taller, so gravity is not on my side, And carrying this weight seems effortless to him. We set it down, and Gale sets some snares while I close my eyes, leaning my head against the familiar rock. The sun warms my eyelids, light still visible through the skin.

I open my eyes abruptly as I hear him approach.

"I got something for you," he fishes into his pocket and pulls out a shiny object. As he sits down beside me, he presses it into my palm. His warm hands are rough. It's a pin, a bird in flight within a circle. A mockingjay. They have a few in the woods here. My mind wanders back to when my father and I used to hunt, how the mockingjays stopped their song to listen to his voice.

"I found it in the Hob," he interrupts my reverie.

"It's beautiful," I turn it over in dirty palm. I admit I had been disappointed that it wasn't edible. But somehow, the knowledge that this will last much longer than food is comforting. And I'm not lying when I say it's beautiful; the detail is impressive, each sinew carefully carved, making the bird look as though it could really be in motion.

"How many times is your name in there?" I ask after a while, because it's no use keeping quiet about something that both of us are thinking.

"42." He tries to sound off-hand, but he's avoiding my gaze and twisting his father's ring absently.

For some reason, I am angry at him. "Why don't you just sell that thing?"

He looks at me, with an expression I can't place. "It's my father's. Not the Capitol's."

We fall into silence again.

"I talked to Greasy Sae, yesterday," I recall for Gale. "She said 'I bet that Gale Hawthorne is going to get himself killed'. One day the peacekeepers will stop buying our meat and we won't be allowed to hunt anymore. They'll switch the fence back on and everything, and shut the Hob down…"

Gale laughs softly. "Sure as hell I'd get myself killed if they turned the fence back on. I'd kill every damned peacekeeper I found until they caught me."

I smile a little at how predictable he's become, torn between irritation and amusement.

"We could take off, you know," he says heavily. "Live in the woods."

"They'd catch us," I dismiss him, rubbing the pin with my thumb until it begins to shine.

"We've made it this far, Katniss," he has a fire in his gaze when he looks at me. It's as if I'm not there, as if he's looking past me at something. "We have the deer, that could keep us going for days-"

"Stop, Gale," I stand up. "We can't afford to think like that."

The journey to the Hob is silent. As they see us entering with our deer and Gale's squirrels, bidders begin to haggle with us. By the time we return home, our pockets are full. We reach my house. I can see my mother inside, watching some interview about the reaping tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow, Katnip." The tension abates. "And may the odds…" he throws me a squirrel from his belt.

"…be EVER in your favour," I catch it. He holds my gaze for a moment, and we share those thoughts that we can't afford to think of. I smile at him, a little sadly. Too many luxuries for today. I turn back into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

2 – Reaping

Prim is re-tying her goat to its post as I approach the next morning, her delicate fingers fumbling the knot. My mother has dressed her in the reaping clothes that I used to wear; she has always been smaller than me and the blouse un-tucks at the back as she bends over.

"Come on, little duck," I say as I pass her, as cheerfully as I can. "I've got a treat for you."

Prim looks up at me. It would kill her to disappoint anyone, and she seems to think that feigning enthusiasm will make me feel better. She doesn't know that this is the only thing that could make me feel even more hollow. Her hands clutch the skirt desperately, as though all of her fear is channelling through them. I unlace my boots at the door, noting that some of its wire mesh needs repairing before the summer. _Because this summer will be no different from the last,_ I think. _We can't be selected. _I've signed up for tesserae, and my name slips are fast multiplying each year, but my chances are still slim. With her name in once, the odds are in Prim's favour. And Gale…I can't think about Gale. This is his last year. By tomorrow, that danger is over.

Inside, my mother is watching the District 4 reapings. Her eyes are glazed.

"Turn it off."

She turns around, startled, as though she does not understand what I have said. I stride over to the projector and turn it off, taking a moment to compose myself before turning back to Prim. The last thing on the projector was the face of a woman as her son walked to the platform. There were no tears, but her desperate attempt to comprehend was more powerful than a thousand weeping mothers. Wordlessly, I take some wool out of my pocket that I bought with our deer money at the Hob and put it on the table for her to see.

Prim is not so quick to recover her composure. Her wide eyes are still fixed on the wood wall the image played. I reach into my pocket again and bring out an iced bun. She looks up at me, as though asking for validity. I hand it to her, and I see the struggle in her head.

"Have it afterwards," I tell her. "We can share it." There is a pause, in which she holds the bun as though it might disappear.

I don't want to leave Prim alone, but I have to wash the grime off me. Upstairs, our brass bath is barely lukewarm. I perch on the edge of it, using a cloth to scrub my skin until it is raw. I wash my hair too, leaning my head over the edge, watching as the murky water drips from my knees to the floorboards. If I'm not careful the whole ceiling will come down. It happened once to someone not too far from here. Luckily they were out…Prim would most likely be at school. My mother...

I realise what I'm thinking and feel disgusted at myself. Abruptly, I straighten up, drying myself with an old blanket, seeing my olive skin clean for the first time in weeks. I feel almost exposed, as though without my armour, the affirmation that I can provide for myself. That I have a purpose.

On the bed my mother has laid out one of her old dresses for me. I'm taken aback, wondering if this is her way of reaching out to me. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I am startled at how much I resemble her, when there was still life in her eyes.

A loud knoll reverberates around us. I hear Prim gasp. We do not have long. Dark hair still loose around my shoulders, I walk calmly downstairs, to see Prim in the middle of the room, clutching her skirt like a lifeline. Crouching down to eye level, I reassure her with a story about my first reaping. Most of it is untrue; all I can remember is feeling as though I was the only one in the square, that my name was bound to be the one in the Capitol woman's talons, and wondering if at least I would be well-fed before I died.

"You look beautiful," I tell her, enveloping her in my arms and stroking her soft, light hair.

"I thought I could do your hair," my mother offers, and I am surprised to see her standing up, speaking to me. Another knoll. Prim's body becomes rigid.

"No time," I mutter, pulling it into my usual braid as we make for the door. I do not wait to see her expression.

I hold Prim's hand tightly all the way to the square. Families join us, with a sobriety reserved for this time of year. As houses get denser, their structures a little more substantial than those at the Seam, I can see that the Peacekeepers have tried to clean the place up a little, with limited success. The grey buildings in the square have been hosed down, glinting structures erected to support Capitol seals and a large screen. For such a small girl, Prim has a surprisingly strong grip on my hand. Excess water has collected in the mud of the square, and I can feel it begin to soak through my thin soles. A blister on my heel starts to sting. They have used disinfectant, too, as if we were diseased. In all fairness, some of us are. When we reach the registration desks, I have to prise her fingers from mine.

"It's okay, Prim. I'm just over there," I point towards the section where other sixteen-year-olds will be standing. "You go over there with your friends, hm?" I tuck her shirt into her skirt and smile at her, although I can tell that she knows it's forced. "I'll see you afterwards. Can I have some of your bun?" My eyes are beginning to sting so I let go of her.

Prim nods, numbly. I watch her as she walks across the square to join her line, looking too small. Too small to be going through this yet. As they prick my finger, I look around for Gale. Being a head taller than most people his age, I spot him immediately, already filed in his line. I catch his eye and he nods. _After this, let's hunt,_ he's saying. It's a tradition now, almost. The best afternoon of the year, after the worst morning, when we can begin to quench the gnawing hunger left behind by our fear of the worst. _42 times. _I can see the bowl that holds the boys' names. There are 42 slips of paper in there reading _Gale Hawthorne_. All for a bag of grain and some coal. The coal that we mine.

I join the other girls my age, who I know from school, some even from the Seam. But the reaping is not a time for communication; everyone stays silent, looking down mostly, trying not to seem conspicuous, as though that will stop them from being selected. We are among the last there, living the furthest out of town. So not long after we are assembled, I hear the whine of the microphone, and see Effie Trinket totter out of the Justice Building, a wide-brimmed green hat shading her eyes against the sun.


	3. Chapter 3

3 – Odds

"Ladies and gentlemen." The microphone is too loud, and her voice echoes off the harsh stone around us until I am shuddering at the hiss of the Capitol. Despite everything, I can't help but look wryly at Gale from across the square, remembering our well-rehearsed mimic of the Capitol accent. He catches my gaze for a moment, then flicks his eyes back to the front, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. I catch sight of the clear bowls with their slips of paper and feel a dull weight in my chest, my amusement vaporising. "The time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the-" Effie Trinket pauses for a moment, searching for words that best fit the enormity of the occasion, "-_honour_ of representing District Twelve in the 74th annual Hunger Games".

She smiles around at us all, her eyes squinted against the sun. It seems more rehearsed than last year. Perhaps she is bored with representing this worn, weary District. Perhaps she has realised that there is no hope for anyone who is selected. An image flashes before my eyes, and I recognise it from my nightmare. Prim, in the arena, standing alone as twenty three tributes charge at her. A few years ago there was a tribute from 7 who was barely twelve. When the countdown clock stopped, I couldn't help but keep pace in my head. She lasted fourteen seconds. The victor that year had a penchant for decapitation. She was his first victim. Despite the frequent injuries that my mother tended at our kitchen table, I hadn't known that there could be so much blood in a creature so small.

"Ladies first."

My heart begins to thud against my chest, feeling bile rise in my throat. Oil has found its way into the small puddles on the floor, reflecting the sun with a choking sheen. Effie's green nails have found their prey. She pulls a slip of paper carefully out of the bowl. _In less than ten seconds,_ I think, _it will all be over. Twelve months until the next reaping. _Her white lips begin to form a word and I stop breathing. They purse, her skin wrinkling beneath a layer of powder as she trills each syllable. A shower of stars blurs my vision. I realise I have stumbled, feeling another wave of nausea.

_Prim._

I am back in the meadow. The fresh air hits the back of my neck and I can breathe again. I'm running towards the flower as quickly as I can, but I know I can't run fast enough. It shudders in the wind, wavering beneath the power of something stronger and more terrible than my even my nightmares could have seen. I'm leaden, my legs weak as I try to run. Someone is shouting. Two peacekeepers are restraining me.

It's my voice, and I'm shouting something.

_I volunteer. _Everyone's eyes on me. Never in the history of District 12 has there been a volunteer. I'm ensuring my death. I think about the birthmark on my wrist, my ragged nails. My unkempt dark hair, olive skin, blue eyes characteristic of the seam. In two weeks that will all be gone. I wish I could speak to my father. Ask him what it feels like. _I volunteer as tribute_, I am affirming, more controlled this time, looking squarely at Effie Trinket.

Effie recovers herself. The peacekeepers are marching Prim away, her small frame lifted off the floor by their white-suited arms.

"Don't touch her!" I scream, and one of them looks squarely at me. His eyes are glazed, not with indifference. They are hazel. He is human too. I can't look at Prim.

I feel as though my legs are about to give way. Effie Trinket is beckoning from far above me, mystified. I do not know how I reached the top of the stairs, facing the row that I had been standing in, thinking about the worst-case scenario. I would give my life this instant to be back there for just one more minute, to taste that ignorance again.

"What's your name, dear?" Effie is asking me. I turn to look at her. Her hands are shaking slightly, her eyes darting wildly around as she tries to regain composure.

"Katniss Everdeen." For a moment our eyes meet. We will never comprehend each other, but we try. We search each others' faces for a trace of understanding, but can find none, no acceptance of the situation we are in. The situation the Capitol has put us in. Her façade returns. "Well I bet my buttons that was your sister!"

She is desperate, scanning my face for something, anything. Forgiveness? I give no reply, my face turned resolutely forward. She does not have my forgiveness.

Gale is taking his place back in the line. His jaw is clenched.

"And now the male tribute," Effie reaches shakily into the bowl. Everybody in the crowd is avoiding my gaze. Her fingers tremble so that the piece of paper she has managed to grasp drops back into the mass. I wonder who was so whimsically saved. She has a hold on another slip now, and draws it out of the bowl.

"Our male tribute…"

I am barely listening. I don't want to know who my opponent will be. I only register who it is when they are halfway up the steps. Woodsmoke, the forest. I feel my stomach churn at the familiar smells. I do not need to see him to feel his presence beside me. Usually he is the only thing that can reassure me. Now he is the only thing that can make me despair.

"Well let's have a warm round of applause for our brave tributes. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

Silence. One movement from the crowd, a ripple, and something deeper shifts. Three fingers, kissed, raised to the air. To District 12. To the Capitol for what it has done. To Gale and me.


	4. Chapter 4

4 - Train

The inside of the Justice Building is peeling; a broken chair alone in the corner of what must have once been a grand entrance hall. We are ushered into a side chamber, which muffles the sound of voices from outside. I think about how many people have been here before, seeing their families for the last time. Somehow, I find myself wishing that I did not have to see them again, wishing that my time with them could be confined to my life before I knew my fate. My knees hit the wooden floor, bruises blossoming beneath the skin, and I feel Gale's hands under my arms, lifting me back to my feet, closing tightly around me until I feel only him. I have never appreciated the breadth of him, felt his strong chest against my cheek, his rough hands holding me tighter than I can remember ever being held. The forest still lingers on his shirt. His breath is warm in my hair. I could count the number he has left. The number we both have left.

"Katniss," he says urgently, letting me go just a little so that I can see into his face. He opens his eyes and I realise that he had been closing them too, perhaps with the same childish hope that it would shut out everything else. Reflected there are the hours we spent in the forest, the only time I could ever feel like myself, the only time I remember smiling without forcing myself. _We could take off, you know. Live in the woods._

The door opens, and Primrose's arms are around my waist, tears streaming down her face. "Prim," I say softly. "Listen to me." I crouch down at eye level, and Gale turns towards the wall, his fists clenched, biting down on his knuckle with his eyes tight shut again. I tuck a strand of hair behind Prim's ear, and brush a tear from her pale cheek with my thumb. "You have to speak to Greasy Sae. She'll give you food. I'm sure Hazelle will take care of you too. And you have your goat. Don't take out tesserae, it's not worth putting your name in more times."

She tries to speak, but I silence her. The peacekeepers already have a hand on her shoulder. I look at them, and they recoil instantly. "I love you," I whisper as I hold her to me. She begins to scream as they carry her away on the other side of the door, and I clamp my hands over my ears, feeling bile rising again in my throat. The floorboards sway beneath my blurred vision.

When I wake, I can feel the warmth of Prim's body beside me, and I hold onto her. The bed feels warmer than usual, comfortable. Light warms my eyelids. This time between sleeping and waking is my favourite time of day, the time when I realise that the nightmares were just dreams, just my fear taking over in unguarded sleep. My eyes open slowly, squinting against the light.

_Deep in the meadow…under the willow…_

It takes me a moment to realise that the form I am holding is not Prim. I am curled around Gale, who hums quietly. I bury my head into him, holding him tighter as I fight against the crushing weight of reality. He can feel my heart thudding and begins to whisper reassurances into my ear. His breath on my face soothes me as I slowly regain consciousness, looking up at his face. He does not try to smile. In his gaze is the unspoken confirmation of my horror. That there is no way we will ever return from this together. We can't come home together. _If it came down to it…_I try to push the thought out of my head, scanning his face. Could I ever do it? Tributes go mad in the games. Even the ones that would never kill at home break. Suddenly I know the answer, see it in his face. _We can't come home together. _We will die, but we can go down together. And we won't without a fight. Because we are hunters, and that is how we survive.

I realise how close I am to Gale. I have never, not even in the woods, been held by him as I am now. I'm sitting up, my head swimming. He must be able to see my faintness, because he sits up too to support me, but I shake him off.

"I'm fine," I tell him, my voice louder than I intended, cracking a little.

"I know," he tells me. _We both are. _He stands up to leave.

"Gale," murmur, and he turns around. I have never thanked him before. I struggle to form the words.

But he understands. He nods. He had my back. I would do the same for him. And we would until the end.

IIIIIIIIII

We are on a train. My compartment seems to be made almost entirely of velvet, the sheets silk. A crystal chandelier above my bed sways slightly with each turn, the only indication that we are moving at all. I look out of the window at the forested hills until Effie knocks.

"Katniss!" she trills. "Katniss, are you decent?" I do not answer. "Come on, dear, we've got a _big, big, big _day ahead of us!"

I have found the bathroom and turn on the shower with one of the buttons on the marble wall. The water masks the sound of her voice, and eventually, the sound of my thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

5 - Capitol

The dining compartment door slides open, light glinting on the smooth metal, and the back of my throat burns as the sweet scent of pastries threatens to overpower me. I have not eaten since reaping day.

"There she is," Effie stands up to beckon me inside; smiling widely. She has completely recovered herself. "Well don't you look…_ tidy_ in those lovely clothes!"

I look down at myself, feeling suddenly ridiculous. The tailored trousers feel light against my skin, brushing the carpet beneath my simple leather shoes. I chose the blouse because it was the simplest thing in the wardrobe that fit into the compartment wall. Still, every move I make, the silk catches the sun, flowing weightlessly from my arms. Looking up, I see Gale seated at the table. He looks down to his food when I catch his eye, a line appearing between his eyes.

Effie pulls out a chair, patting it expectantly. I sit down with caution. A silver stand piled with pasties sits before me, and I look at it warily. Choosing a simple roll of bread, I look at Gale for guidance, but his gaze remains fixed on his empty plate, tracing a pattern into the placemat with his knife.

"Alright, you two," Effie begins. "We've got a _big, big, big _day ahead of us!" She looks at us expectantly, supposedly for some sort of reaction, but I am too busy examining the sticky syrup that has spilled out of my roll.

"That's honey, dear. It won't hurt."

I look up at her, and something in my expression makes her change the subject.

"Now, as you know, today is the Tribute's Parade. I explained to…_this young gentleman_ over dinner, but as you were resting, dear, I thought I'd save the details for now."

I am struck by her avoidance of Gale's name.

"We have to decide an angle for the two of you," she continues, leaning back as if to get a wider perspective. "Sympathy gets sponsors sometimes."

"We can rule out sympathy," Gale interjects, finally speaking. His voice is rough.

"Alright then, we're getting somewhere," Effie pours herself some tea.

The roll tastes sweet, the syrup soothing my throat. I try to pace myself, but it is not long before I am reaching for another.

"Your prep teams will be working closely to make you look your best. The sponsors will be at the parade, so be gracious," she says pointedly.

We stay silent. I am beginning to understand how this is going to work. The door slides open again to reveal Haymitch Abernathy. I have only seen him on screen. I can smell the alcohol from here. There's a kind of fond distaste for Haymitch in District 12 – the only victor we've ever had, who is slowly disintegrating over time.

"Kind of you to grace us with your presence," he says to me, tucking a napkin into his collar and unscrewing a hip flask. "If you can't handle the reaping, sweetheart, you might as well just jump off the train. Although, to volunteer yourself, you must be crazy anyway. You'll be killed in the first-"

Gale looks at Haymitch squarely. "Are you going to give us any real advice?"

Haymitch takes a bite of a pastry. Whipped cream is entangled in his stubble when he says, "Stay alive."

Gale stands up suddenly and the table shakes. He strides across the room, and disappears behind the sliding door.

"Your friend has an attitude problem," Effie remarks. "You know, you have to be likeable at the interview tomorrow. People want someone to root for. And you want it to be you."

I am about to reply, unsure exactly of what to say, when I see the view from the window and feel a shock run through me. The Capitol. I have only ever seen snapshots of it in previous years, never quite appreciating its height and breadth. Each building reaches higher than our electricity pylons in 12, reflecting the water below. Mountains stretch behind it, their tips dusted with snow.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Effie remarks as we enter a tunnel. "This is what's so special about the Hunger Games. If you weren't here, you wouldn't have so many fabulous opportunities to experience everything Panem has to offer!"

We pull into a station. The tracks are in the open, and the train slows as a swarm of Capitol people crane to get a glance of the tributes. Effie Trinket is tame compared to them. The colours are so bright that I recoil, their unguarded enthusiasm almost animalistic, yet at the same time I feel like an animal, caged. I stand up to find Gale. There is a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd through the window.

"Well, sweetheart, I wish you luck. You're not the most charming tribute we've had." Haymitch takes a swig of his hip flask. Effie looks at a loss of how to react.

Gale is not in his compartment. The window there is open and I can hear the squeals of onlookers as they see me emerge. I quickly withdraw, heart pounding. It turns out Gale is in my compartment, a long blind drawn over the window. He looks up as I enter, and his expression softens.

"Hey, Katnip. Sorry about…" he looks in the direction of the dining car. "I just…"

I sit down beside him. He wears a crisp, grey suit, not unlike the one Haymitch appears to have been wearing since last year's Games. It's as though he's a different person; not quite from the Capitol, but there's a note of falseness that is so unlike him. Perhaps he felt the same about me.

"The Tribute's Parade," I mutter.

"So we spend the afternoon being prepped until we're raw, all so that we can look pretty before we enter the arena."

Gale is winding up to one of his outbursts that he usually reserves for the woods, where no Peacekeepers can hear us.

"Gale, we have to be careful," I keep my voice low.

"Why?" Gale's voice is low and forceful. "What's the worst they can do? Put me in the arena? They're already doing that. And to add insult to injury, they're putting you in there too."

"No, Gale." His temper fuels my own. "They can target our families. They can target everyone we love back in 12, you know they can. So even though we know we're not going home, we can at least keep them safe."

He looks at me, almost pleadingly, and I realise neither one of us has voiced the inevitable, our unspoken agreement to face our cannons together.

IIIIIIIIII

Everything is cold in the Capitol. I thought that District 12 was cold – no heating in the insubstantial houses, not enough wool for warm clothes in the winter – but lying on a metal table, having my hair ripped from my body, I feel chilled to the bone. It seems that I do not own myself anymore. My prep team are slowly moulding me into what they want me to be, and automatically I begin to distance myself from the unfamiliar aspects of my new body.

"I'm jealous of your figure," one of the team remarks, smiling through a row of unusually short teeth. "What's your regime?"

I am surprised at the question, and I take a moment to formulate an answer that won't make me sound like a savage.

"Mostly meat, and a lot of exercise."

This is true. The main source of food is what Gale and I hunt, and running through the woods has given me a lean physique that I always thought was more useful than aesthetic. I was a hunter, after all.

"Cinna will be right with you," one of the team speaks to me slowly, nodding as though I am a child.

Cinna, it transpires, is the head of my prep team. I have never seen him interviewed before. I approve of his style more than I do for most of the people I have seen today; simple gold lines over his deep brown eyes is the only thing that would set him apart from someone from District 12.

"Katniss," he shakes my hand. District 12 has never been one for unnecessary formality, so my hand is limp. "I'm new to this too. And I'm here to help you as much as I can."

There's a sincerity in his voice that tells me he understands much more of what I feel, of what the Capitol citizens should be able to ascertain from the tributes.

"Most people just congratulate me," I search his face.

"Well I don't see the point in that."

"So, what, you're going to dress me up as a better coal miner than all the other years?" my words are harsher than I intended, but he does not take offense.

"No," he smiles a little. "I have a better idea. Something that will make them remember you."

It's as though he knows what I want before I do. I do not want to go through this experience like so many of the other tributes, those who are so easily forgotten. I'm not just a piece in their games.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN – Thank you all so much for your reviews! I really value the feedback. Thank you especially to Ellenka, Pamola Brighton, Pinkykaydee and murdrax for their continued support and advice.**

**To accommodate the fact that I have decided to make this a full-length story, I have edited the first 6 chapters to enhance the plot and characters, so if you have a chance, please re-visit! **

**Also, just to let you know, I have been writing these with the film score and some of the soundtrack, and if you have them I feel the music can help to add atmosphere.**

6 – Parade

Cinna's smiling face is illuminated by the small flame that he holds in the darkness. I glance at Gale, who eyes it warily.

"Is that real?"

"Synthetic," Cinna tells us. He turns me around and holds the torch to the back of my black suit. The material stretches over my skin, and I feel self-conscious, aware of how many eyes will be fixated on me in a few moments. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not," I look at him squarely, and he nods, in his eyes an understanding that seems incongruous in the Capitol.

Gale's face is thrown into relief by the flames that have sprung from my back. My hair is safely tied, but I can feel the fire's cool tongues at the base of my neck and I shiver. His eyes reflect the fire around me and in the shadow of the flames, the contours of his face become sharper. I realise how we will seem to everyone else. Dangerous. Beautiful. Then Gale's back is engulfed in flames, and we step onto the chariot, where so many others have stepped before us.

"The flames will extinguish by themselves," Cinna tells us.

He's about to leave, when Gale says his name. He turns, a little surprised.

"Thank you."There is a sincerity in his voice that Cinna deserves.

Cinna nods, and the horses begin to draw us away. I quickly turn my face forward, and the tunnel entrance becomes brighter.

Screaming. The Capitol's tumult almost drowns the sound of the anthem as we glide down the procession. Thousands of people are gathered, a swarm of colour cheering wildly for their favourite event of the year. My heart thuds against my chest as we emerge. The sound swells as the crowd catches sight of us, screams of fear mingling with awe. The screens that stand along the route quickly focus on us. And we are beautiful. Gale looks resolutely forward, his jawbone tight. My eyes smoulder in shadow, my cheekbones deeper, my skin glowing gold. I do not recognise myself.

The crowd grows louder, deafening me. Flowers and hats find our path, and I glimpse people individually; a woman with white hair, her mouth open in exclamation as she leans over the railing, her eyes reflecting the flames around us; a round man, thumping his fist against his knee in appreciation, his cheeks flushed.

"Don't smile," Gale whispers, barely audible.

I nod. He's right. We are distancing ourselves from the Capitol, not endearing ourselves to them like the tributes before us.

I can feel the chariot slowing, and see that the other tributes are lined up at the end of the procession. Our horses draw into position, and my eyes are drawn to the balcony where a white head looms, maximised on the screen behind him. A white powder covers his face, his lips pencilled a pale blue.

"Welcome," President Snow's voice is too familiar to me. Gale grips my hand tightly, and I do not withdraw it. His warm fingers pressing into my skin demonstrate the unity between us, our promise to each other as Seam children, friends, hunters."And happy Hunger Games!"

IIIIIIIIII

The elevator stops as a small screen reads '12'.

"There's a floor for every district," Effie explains. "And because you're District 12, you get the penthouse. It's one of the perks of representing a-a lesser district."

Doors slide open to reveal a room made almost entirely of glass. To our right stands a raised platform, where a dining table is already spread for dinner. The glass windows that encompass the floor show give us a view of the streets below, where swarms of Capitol citizens still crowd around the training centre, still trying to catch a glimpse of the tributes. A small hovercraft weaves between two buildings, throwing beams of light onto a square that is just blocked by another tower. I assume there must be more festivities going on, but we can't hear anything in here. I feel handicapped, as though one of my senses is missing, the difference between making a kill and going hungry.

Effie takes me by the shoulders and steers me across the polished floor to my bedroom. This too has a glass wall overlooking the Capitol. It's sparsely furnished, which seems to be popular here; a bed, larger than the bedroom that I share with Prim and my mother, lies in the middle, its velvet sheets covered in a red fur that I cannot place.

"I know, I know!" Effie smiles widely at my wordlessness. "A lot of tributes find this overwhelming. They're not used to the luxury, poor things. Now, dinner is at nine. And then early to bed, we've got a big, big, big day-"

I have already walked over to a door, which slides open to grant me access to a bathroom. A showerhead stands in the centre, with a drain to collect the water but no walls to speak of. A long slab of stone lines an entire wall, with a mirror where the window should be. The person staring back at me looks uncertain, and I rearrange my features until I see only the girl lit in flames. As I approach the stone, a sheet of water pours down onto the slab, stretching the length of the wall, like a waterfall. I splash water on my face, bracing myself for cold, but the liquid is warm. Realising how thirsty I am, I scoop water into my hands and gulp it down.

Soon I give up on the sink and begin to peel off my black suit, relieved as my skin meets the air. I don't know exactly what to do with the suit, so I leave it on the floor. A set of buttons are laid into the stone wall. I press the first one, and the showerhead releases another line of water, much like the one in the sink, but thicker, so that my whole body can fit underneath it. It engulfs my skin softly, the careful pressure dulling my thoughts. After a while I have to breathe, and push my head out of the stream. I can see myself in the mirror. Something about me is different. Surveying my hands, I realise what it is; the prep team has somehow smoothed my skin so that my familiar scars have vanished. Without them, I feel altered, only realising the pride I hold in my hunting once the evidence has vanished. The Capitol has taken this, my identity. Turned me into one of them.

I can't stay in the shower. As soon as I step out entirely the stream stops, and a blast of warm air comes out of the ceiling. I am dry in seconds. In my bedroom, Effie appears to have laid out an outfit; a simple black dress which ties at the back. I find myself appreciating her consideration.

IIIIIIIIII

I am the last one to dinner. Effie smiles widely at me as I sit next to Gale, and I eye the cutlery that has been laid out for me.

"Five courses," Effie confirms, beaming. "How I've missed this place!"

Gale laughs softly, but there is no humour in it.

Someone's hand reaches over my shoulder to pour a dark liquid into my glass. I look around sharply. The woman is dressed in a uniform I have seen around the Capitol, but have only registered until now. Her eyes are glazed, her bottom jaw slightly forward. _Avox._

"Thank you," I say, and her eyes find mine for the briefest of moments, before darting back to the floor. I have seen this expression before, when better fed people look down on begging Seam children. Pity. The slave for the Capitol is feeling pity for me. And I can't blame her.

"Eat up!" Effie demonstrates soup drinking, exaggerating each movement, looking at us both to follow. I pick up a spoon and survey it. Gold. This could feed my family for a year. The soup slides easily down my throat, and I realise it's parsnip. The taste reminds me of home, but the metal is cold on my skin.

No sooner have we finished our soup than another course is brought by a male avox. Herbs have been sprinkled around the joint to make it look decorative, but the soup has only fuelled my appetite and I dig into the meat, watching the juices swirl around the crystal, seeping into the intricate carved patterns. Venison. I look up at Gale, who knows what I'm thinking, despite all of this. _We get to eat our deer after all_. His face is back to normal now, but I can't shake the image of him engulfed in flames. I had not realised how handsome he was; the curve of his jaw, his strong nose, the mouth that is always turned down, his large, angular eyes. The Games were making me see everything differently, making someone who was once so familiar seem so dangerous. Despite our deal, he is not just a friend, and a beautiful one; but an opponent. We are expected to put ourselves first, and perhaps it's just a matter of time before one of us breaks. I shake the thought from my head, but not before Gale sees my eyes flash with fear. I curse myself for letting him see my emotion. We have to be strong together. I remember our promise and listen to Effie begin to dictate the plans for tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

7 – Training

The lights of the Capitol reflect off the long channel of decorative water below us. My thoughts blur from the wine served at dinner. I couldn't help but notice that Haymitch had kept filling my glass, met with many disapproving glances from Effie. Threads of songs interrupt my thoughts, and I follow them back home, to the woods, the meadow, the lake that my father used to take me to. I remember being no older than ten, seeing the crystalline water, clearer than any water I had ever seen in District 12, and placing my palm onto its surface as if to test its validity, soft ripples playing at my skin. I can feel the water around me now as I drift on the surface of the water further out, further away from the district perimeter, the sun warming my face from the breathless sky above me, water muffling the sound of the Capitol.

"Katniss." It's Gale. He's been here for a while, standing at the door as I hug my knees to my chest above the still folded silk. He's using my real name.

I turn to him, and my smile is readier than usual. I really am glad to see him. He's carrying a bottle of something. He sits down beside me, a crease appearing between his eyes as he hands me the bottle. The colour of the liquid is difficult to determine in the limited light, but it looks like the type that Haymitch carries conspicuously in his hip flask. I press my lips to the rim and tip the bottle. The liquid burns my throat as I swallow, but the warming sensation is soothing and I take another gulp. Gale takes it from me before I can have any more.

"They don't have any idea, do they?" Gale is looking intently at the crowds of people in the streets below. His voice is not angry. "It's not that they wouldn't care, but they don't know they should."

I don't want to talk about the Hunger Games. My unexplained contentedness evaporates, and I look angrily at Gale.

"You ruined everything," I choke.

He turns to me questioningly, the lights of the Capitol reflected in his eyes.

"If it was just me here, I could have tried to win…"

"You could still try to win," Gale points out absently.

"We can't go home without each other," I remind Gale. "It wouldn't be…I thought we agreed."

I realize how much I am saying and stop talking abruptly. Searching his face, hoping that he did not hear my candour, I see something register. The crease between his eyes deepens, and he looks at me.

"Of course, Katniss," he agrees haltingly. "Neither of us will go home."

"Cannons together," I mumble, feeling suddenly drowsy, my eyelids drooping, a heaviness in my head. Gale tucks the covers over me and brushes a strand of hair off my face. Everything is warm; the sheets, his touch. His silhouette pauses on his way out of the room, as though he is about to say something. My eyes close for a moment, and when they are open again, he is gone, the door sliding soundlessly shut.

IIIIIIIIII

I have never been so comfortable. As the sun begins to rise over the mountains, the buildings are glazed with light. I can feel it warming my skin as I lie in the silk and fur, unmoving. Soon I begin to feel stiff and sit up slowly. Someone has laid out a training outfit, and I eye it as I pad over the cold floor to the bathroom. The water is cooler than before, as though to help wake me up. When I am clean, I am alert, despite a dull ache in my head. Climbing into my training outfit, which consists of one skin-tight suit labelled '12', I leave my room to find Effie, Gale and Haymitch sitting at the table.

"Nice sleep?" Effie asks me.

I do not reply. These kinds of conversations are pointless to me, especially when I have very few conversations left anyway.

"What are you saying?" I ask Haymitch as I sit, not wanting to miss anything important. He looks at me with exasperation and takes a swig of his hip flask. I pour a glass of juice as I wait for him to continue talking.

"I was just saying to Gale here that you should keep your main skills as a surprise. Don't practice them today, wait for the scoring tomorrow. What can you do?"

"Arrows," I tell him through my croissant-filled mouth.

Haymitch laughed. "Seriously?"

"Katniss and I hunt to stay alive," Gale tells him pointedly. "We've been shooting and snaring game for years."

I wonder why he is telling them about our continued crimes, and then realise that this is helping to raise us in Haymitch's esteem.

"Alright then," Haymitch says finally. "All the tributes will be down there at nine. And whatever you do, don't make yourselves look weak."

IIIIIIIIII

The large training area, all metal and stone, lies below the training centre building. I had heard Gale hold his breath as the elevator descended below ground level, and knew it reminded him of our trips to the mines in District 12. Stations have been set up throughout it, some for survival skills, others for combat training. Gale and I are on separate rotations. I know how to identify edible plants from the days when we were unlucky in the woods, and am relatively good at snares from what I've learned from Gale. I only half-listen to this tutorial, instead looking around at the other tributes. A few register prominently in my memory. The careers from District 2 are often the object of admiration; the boy, strongly-built and almost as tall as Gale wields a sword, slashing expertly at dummies' heads, while the girl, slight and much younger, flicks knifes frivolously at targets. Each one lands not at the chest, but the centre of the face. My attention is caught again when a woman comes forward to speak. Her muscles almost rip out of a tight shirt.

"As you all know from previous years, although many of you will die from injuries sustained by others, the majority of you will die of natural causes; 30% from infection, 20% from dehydration and 10% from starvation."

The tributes from District 2 don't seem to be paying attention. The girl is trying to carve into the stone floor with a knife. Opposite her, a girl who must be no older than twelve is listening intently to the woman's advice, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. For some reason, I am immediately reminded of Prim.

Everyone is standing up and I follow, not having heard our instructions. Gale is doing sword practice a short distance away, and I begin to head over. Before I can reach him, however, the boy from District 2 has approached him. I pretend to be choosing a sword from the glass rack, surveying the numerous lengths, feeling the smooth or serrated edges.

"Cato," the boy holds out his hand to Gale, who ignores it. He is still taller, and well-built, but this boy has been trained his whole life for the Hunger Games, and it shows.

"That girl you're with," Cato continues unabashed, and I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. "You related?"

I can understand why he might think this, as most people from the Seam look similar, but it seems to irritate him.

"No."

"But you knew each other before?"

Gale nods, a little reluctantly.

"You should probably leave her while you've got the chance. Any…" he pauses as if he doesn't use the word often, "_emotional_ attachments can be the difference between winning and dying. Not that I blame you, she's h-"

Cato's speech is cut short by Gale's fist. It meets Cato's face with a thud, and I see blood spray from his nose. I'm about to laugh when I remember the reason for Gale's outburst. Cato walks away, dabbing at his bleeding nose with his sleeve, looking at Gale resentfully.

"I was going offer you a place in our alliance," Cato calls. "But it seems you've just become the first on my list to hunt down."

IIIIIIIIII

Caesar Flickerman is the best-known Hunger Games presenter in Panem, all because of this one night. Standing behind the platform, second from last, I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. Gale's breath cools the back of my neck, but we do not speak. We haven't spoken properly since the night before. Gale and I have never needed to talk too much to make our purpose clear, but I am unsure how long this will last. After all, in this hunt, we are the prey.

The loud music subsides, and Caesar, his hair a deep blue and his smile painted white, calls to the audience.

"And do you want to meet our first tribute?"

The audience erupts with screaming, and I shiver.

"Alright then, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce, from District 1…Glimmer!"

A blonde girl in an almost transparent dress walks onto the stage, waving at the crowd with a smile. I won't be able to do that. I won't know what to say, how to say it to get sponsors. Just as I turn to look around, I see Cinna approaching.

"I don't know what to do," I whisper when we are out of earshot. He's fixing a device to my dress, and looks up at me as I speak. "I'm not very good at…getting people to like me."

"I like you," he offers, weaving a wire through the folds of my dress. It hangs loosely on my shoulders, but the amount of detail should weigh much more than it feels. I feel grateful to Cinna. "Just be yourself. They shouldn't be able to take _that _away from you. Just make sure they _remember _you."

I want to thank him, but I am being ushered back into line. Cato is on the stage now, and I can see from the large screen on the wall that he is enjoying his interview, choosing to leave some crusted blood below his nose.

"How did this happen?" Caesar exclaims. "We're not in the arena yet…"

Cato laughs, and the audience follows suit. "Well, let's just say I got on the wrong side of that District 12 guy."

"You mean Gale Hawthorne?" Caesar asks, more to the audience than Cato, and they scream in agreement.

"Yeah, I think he was offended because I was admiring his girl."

"You mean Katniss Everdeen? The volunteer?" Caesar confirms, and his manner is staged.

Cato shrugs. "All I can say is, he should be afraid of what I can do when I'm angry. A broken nose is all you got?" he punches his fist with a smile.

Each person filters through. A girl with a face like a fox, whose name I don't remember, speaks quickly and quietly, and I remember her as the girl from the poisonous vegetation station whose hands were moving so fast they were a blur. I can see that her weapon is intelligence. Caesar seems only mildly enthusiastic about her. When the small girl from 11 walks on stage, the audience coos. I feel myself grow nauseous. Gale was right. They just have no idea. They don't link the fact that they are fawning over the girl they have sentenced to death. The girl, whose name turns out to be Rue, has a pair of wings attached to her back, and the effect, contrasting with her dark skin and hair, makes her look vulnerable. She holds her own as she sits down, answering Caesar's questions politely and smiling as she leaves the stage, waving a little at the audience. The boy from 11 is much older, stocky and a similar height to Gale. I don't know why I don't recognise him. As Caesar begins to speak I realise he was not in the training session. His name is Thresh, and he answers only monosyllabically, but not out of stupidity. I admire his resolve, and begin to panic as I realise I'm next. My breath catches in my throat as I'm told to go out. The sound of screaming echoes in my ears as the lights find me, hot and blinding. I do not wave, and wonder if I should. Caesar shakes my clammy hand, smiling reassuringly as I sit down on a simple metal stool.

"So, Katniss," he says with emphasis, looking at the audience, who loves his conspiratory tone. "What's this about Gale Hawthorne?"

I clear my throat a little. I don't know what I should say, what Gale would want me to say. Finally I settle for the truth.

"We're old friends," I tell Caesar, my voice a little hoarse.

"That all?" he asks, and the audience calls out in agreement.

"That's all," I confirm, looking at him with the expression that quelled the peacekeepers on reaping day. Only two days ago. They must be watching this at home, my face projected on the wooden wall, glaring at Caesar Flickerman.

"I think," he changes tact, appearing to choose his words carefully, "that we were all very moved when you volunteered for your sister at the reaping."

"Were you?" I ask, and my tone is a little sarcastic.

"Why did you do it?"

"She's my sister," I say, as though it's obvious. I can feel anger rising in my chest, and a muffling in my ears that only comes before I cry, in the night, when no one can see me.

"You'd be prepared to die for her."

"I couldn't live if I let her go."

The audience is silent. I've given something for her to think about.

"Well you sure are passionate!" Caesar exclaims after a pause. "Now those flames! The ones at the parade! They were fantastic!"

The audience, faces darkened in the shadow of the lights, begins to scream again, and I know my cue. Standing up, I begin to spin. The synthetic flames engulf the bottom of my scarlet dress, and the audience gasps.

"Katniss Everdeen!" Caesar grasps my hand and I stop as he holds it to the air, "_The girl on fire!_"


	8. Chapter 8

8 – Rebel

Caesar Flickerman only reaches up to Gale's shoulder. He holds out his hand as Gale walks out, but once it is made clear that it will not be shaken, he makes as if to introduce him to the audience.

"Our final tribute, Gale Hawthorne!"

Gale and Caesar sit down, Gale leaning forward a little, looking intently at Caesar, assuming Caesar's usual stance. My stomach sinks, my pulse quickening. I can see line between his eyes that always indicates an imminent outburst.

"See, sweetheart, he's being confident, making eye contact…" Haymitch points to the screen in a very Effie-like way. "He'll get sponsors. He might even survive for a while."

I don't respond. _We're not in the woods, Gale_, I plead.

"So, Mr Hawthorne, how are you finding the Capitol?" Caesar asks conspiratorially.

"You really want to know?" Gale asks in the same tone, and the crowd screams.

_No. Please, Gale._

"There's more food at one dinner than my family gets in a month at home," Gale's tone is unchanged. There is a momentary silence. I hear Effie gasp a little, and something comes out of Haymitch's throat that I can't quite place. A laugh? Gale smiles at the audience, some of whom laugh uncomfortably, echoing into the silence. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the moment, seeing the Capitol squirm under Gale's gaze. I see him for a moment from the point of view of someone else; see in the contours of his face and his burning eyes something to be feared. A shock runs through my limbs, a thrill.

"So I guess I'm lucky to be here!" Gale adds, and the crowd cheers again, glad their ethereal conscience has been cleared.

"Indeed!" Caesar says smoothly, pulling the interview back onto his side. "And, tell me, what can the audience expect from you in the days to come? Do you have any particular fighting skills? You all have yet to be rated on potential, I believe."

"I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise," Gale laughs, and I recognise it as humourless, the one that constantly points out irony.

Caesar is more prepared for an uncomfortable moment now, so he continues smoothly.

"Oh, no, that's not the fighting spirit!" Caesar exclaims. "Don't you plan on winning?"

I can see a slight crease between Gale's eyes again. Perhaps it's the lights, the confusion in the heat of the stage, but I wonder if he's actually considering the question. Of course, he has to say it for the cameras. We want sponsors, even if neither of us is going home.

"If the odds permit," Gale says, and I can tell he has chosen the words carefully. To Caesar, to the rest of them, a reference to the slogan that they know so well; to the rest of us, something much more. Haymitch can feel it too, I can tell by his change in stance beside me, because only he can understand how it really feels to have your life taken away before you are dead.

Caesar laughs warmly. "We'll see about that, strong man like you!"

The crowd is deafening now, mainly feminine, fanatic screams that were only rivalled by Cato's interview. Thinking about Gale being perceived this way, as an object of desire, makes me uncomfortable. I find myself wishing we could be in the arena, my hunting partner at last. Suddenly I understand why he seemed so angry to see me on the train; the Capitol is changing us. Caesar shakes his hand warmly, each nod of the head dulling the edge that Gale brought to the interview

Gale comes through the door into the viewing room. He has a small smile on his face as he comes up to me, but before he reaches me, Haymitch is in the way.

"Careful, young man," he growls. Gale looks at him, unflinching. "Even if the crowd are too stupid to figure it out, that was a very fine line and you came too close to crossing it.

"Damn," Gale breathes, and I can't stop myself smiling.

"The two of you, you're more trouble than you're worth," Haymitch turns away, but not before I see his grimace soften.

"You don't know how much I wanted to cross that line," Gale murmurs to me as we turn back to the screen.

"Don't I?" I answer, smiling at the floor. Then, after a pause, "Why didn't you? In the woods, all the things you say – said – all the time…"

Gale's eyes darken, and I can tell we've reached the point when we both stop talking, because we know exactly why. "Rory…" is all he says, and I understand. Our families. He hates having to toe the Capitol's line, each smile, each handshake grating against the spirit that he kept up against the place back at home, but it's necessary to protect them. I used to wonder, sitting at home, knowing Prim was safe, why none of the tributes ever made a stand, but I know now. It's not weakness, it's good sense.

IIIIIIIIII

"So," Effie begins, her hands spread on the table, leaning forward to speak to Gale and me.

"Those interviews went well, I thought. Your social skills could do with improving, but I don't know if they teach that in District 12…Still, it's a solid performance from both of you. Just a word to the wise, and don't mention your home, it makes people…uncomfortable…"

Haymitch sits heavily down. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Gale assures him.

"So, tomorrow is the last day of training, exciting!" Effie trills, snapping her fingers at a nearby Avox, "And then it's the scoring. So we have to make sure we show ourselves off well. Do you have any strengths?"

There is silence. The realisation that we will be in the arena in two days was sudden and unexpected. I should have seen it coming, but in the ache of training and rush of the interviews it has not been at the forefront of my mind. I am used to ignoring the things that I keep in the back for when I am alone, which recently is never.

"Katniss can use a bow and arrow," Gale offers. My palms are clammy, my head light with wine and exhaustion.

"Oh, how bizarre! I sometimes wonder what it would be like to spend a day in 12" Effie remarks. "Well, make sure you use it, anyway. The higher your score, the more sponsors you get, and the greater your chance of- of making it as far as…"

She trails off.

"So meet you both at 9 in the Training Compound," Haymitch concludes.

"May I be excused," I say pointedly, feeling a little nauseous.

"Me too," Gale stands, and Effie waves her hand to dismiss us. We are already halfway to my room.

"We'll be fine," I tell him, my voice cracking as the door slides open.

"We will," Gale confirms, wrapping me in his arms and resting his head on mine.

"What if it comes down to it? And we don't...one of us can't…we end up…" _What if one of us kills the other._

"It won't come down to it, Katniss. We have a plan, remember? Stay alive until it does come down to it and then…_cannons together_."

I can feel him smiling a little at this expression. I nod. Limp, supported only by him, I remember how exhausted I am.

"I'm going to sleep," I manage to say.

"Ok, Katnip," he says, releasing me, and I sway. Catching me, he lays me down on the bed and tucks the covers up to my chin. "See you in the morning."

I don't want him to leave. I only have so many days left with him anyway. "No," I say, my eyelids heavy. "Stay."


End file.
